


Glow

by fightfortherightsofhouseelves, gryffindormischief



Series: Kindle [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hinny, Kindle sequel, Muggle AU, Nerdy Valentine's, Professor!Harry, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 13:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17683985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightfortherightsofhouseelves/pseuds/fightfortherightsofhouseelves, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindormischief/pseuds/gryffindormischief
Summary: Did you know that the origins of Valentine's Day spin around the areas of martyrdom and ancient rulers of jolly old England? So Ginny finds out on a four day romantic vacation with their little family of four. A sequel to Kindle.





	Glow

**Author's Note:**

> who's missed the fluff and the nerdy of the kindle universe - raise your hands! because we know we did haha  
> now in a special valentine's day edition. hope you like! <3

Cozy warmth greets Ginny as she shoves the door closed behind her, cheeks tingling as the chill slowly melts away. It’s been that awkward type of winter weather, where rain turns to sleet, winds beat against window panes, and Ginny wants to wrap herself in a heating blanket to never emerge.

But unless ‘heating blanket tester’ has now become a viable career option, her dreams are less than achievable. So she settles for work she loves and coming home to a cozy space heater of a husband. If anything to do with Harry being her husband can ever be called ‘settling.’

Shoulder knocking against the door as she wrestles dripping wellies from her feet, Ginny lets out a deep sigh and begins to let the stress of her day float off her shoulders. Tonight was pizza night, tomorrow was her first day off in nine days, and Harry’s rented the newest comic book hero whatever film.  

All in all, her projected plans are the stuff of dreams and enough to give her the final burst of energy to wriggle her coat from her arms.  

It’s only once she’s finished hanging the sodden wool to dry and tossed her scarf over its customary hook that Ginny really notices the odd silence hanging about the flat. With barking feet and tingling, wind chapped fingers, she picks her way through their little terrace house in search of her little trio of miscreants. “Ted?  Harry?” she pauses, “James?”

A few more paces bring her just outside Harry’s study, golden light spilling from the half open door as Harry’s voice floats out in a low murmur. “And _this_ is where Nana, Granddad, and Uncle Sirius lived - you’ve been there,” Ginny peers around the corner in time to see Harry shift to tickle James’ little belly, “Though James was just a little bean.”

Teddy nods, a careful finger tracing over the broad pages of the atlas, “I remember, the aeroplane.”

Smiling softly, Ginny tries to preserve the sight in her mind, all three boys splayed across the cozy rug they seem to prefer over any sofa she might find, socked feet kicked up behind them - with James’ barely clinging to his toes. After a moment, she fumbles for her mobile and takes a snapshot, forgetting the volume in her eagerness, and somehow manages to capture the image before all three startle at the noise.

Harry flips over onto his back, one elbow holding him up while his spectacles dangle precariously from his nose. And if that wasn’t adorable enough, James seems to take this as an invitation to climb atop his Dad’s belly like a ride at the carnival while Teddy struggles to shift the unwieldy atlas atop his legs.

“Hello, dear.”

“Hello, my loves,” Ginny says, tugging off her damp socks and tossing them aside before she claims a seat next to Teddy and lifts him onto her lap. Someday, soon, he’ll have grown too big to hold, but she’s not giving him up a day early.

She ruffles James’ already wild (and dangerously thick) hair, accepts a chaste kiss from Harry, and gives Teddy’s tummy a gentle squeeze. “How are my favorite blokes? Plotting an adventure?”

Teddy shares an eager look with Harry, who shakes his head almost imperceptibly and changes the topic with something just short of finesse, “We uh - I was showing the boys where I’ve gone on digs. And then where Mum and Dad and Sirius lived.”

“Potters are a globetrotting bunch,” Ginny agrees as Teddy wriggles in her lap, “Always up for a new escapade.”

Harry tenses when Teddy opens his mouth again, yet his jaw clamps shut as Harry clears his throat, “Speaking of - we’ve got the new superhero part whatever all ready in the den.”

Ginny narrows her eyes at Harry, who forces a look of innocence that wouldn’t fool _Snuffles_ , and rises. “I’ll go order dinner. You three tidy up.”

Before long, their fresh sandwiches and steaming soups arrive and the little family is gathered around a scratched and well-loved kitchen table that’s held up many a meal and late writing session. Teddy’s dunking his grilled cheese with bacon and avocado into his tomato bisque when Harry nudges Ginny’s foot under the table.

She jolts a little, sending pureed veggies dripping down James’ cheek. He seems unaffected, in fact if anything the mess makes him more eager to eat the spoonful. Ginny mirrors his grin and taps his nose with a little ‘boop’ and then gives Harry her attention. “Yes, my love?”

“The boys and I - well I was. Valentine’s day is coming up.”

“So many poor sentences died in the making of that statement.”

Laughing, Harry swipes one of her crisps and bites down with a crunch. “Sorry.”

“Care to have another go?”

“I get that long weekend with my class schedule this semester.”

“Yes and it is _glorious_. I seem to recall a particularly lovely Friday morning romp…”

Teddy glances up and Harry’s _real_ concerned they’ve just managed to prompt the birds and the bees chat about two years too early, but the little Lupin seems blissfully unaware. “Did ya ask Gin about the trip?”

Ginny smirks and Harry widens his eyes at Teddy. “ _Not yet_.”

“What’s this trip?”

“So Valentine’s Day.”

Taking Ginny’s answering hum as invitation to continue, Harry blusters on, “Well the whole holiday is a bit odd - I mean did you know it’s actually based on pretty dark real life events?”

Her gaze darts toward Teddy, who’s raptly listening as Harry explains, but he waves her concern away and continues, “Ted’s fine. So the original, real St. Valentine was actually martyred way back when - ”

“Is that the technical term, Mr. Historian?”

“Hey, it’s Dr. Historian.”

Ginny’s eyes flash and Harry finds himself mentally calculating the hours until both boys will be asleep but eventually gets back on track. “Anyway, he was beheaded and then was named a saint. So all these churches and historical societies and whatnot say they have bits of him.”

“Still not seeing how this is age appropriate for Teddy Bear,” Ginny says with a quirked brow, but Teddy just grins, missing teeth creating an adorable little gap at the front of his smile, and bites into the second half of his sandwich with relish.

“And they’ve got his head in Winchester.”

“Are you asking me to take our boys to Winchester to see St. Valentine’s head,” she pauses to amend, “ _alleged_ head - on our four day romantic holiday weekend?”   
Sheepish and looking almost boyish, Harry attempts a response, “What would happen if I say that I do?”

“I think,” Ginny’s face lights up with love, “That I would love you even more.”

“Brilliant, then start loving me,” he chuckles, eyes squeezed in delight.

“Patience is a virtue,” Ginny winks, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

And like any other virtue, Harry had to practice his a handful of hours before the night set in and both boys were peacefully snoozing in their beds.

“So,” Ginny rolls on her side, open palm on Harry’s chest, “Care to impart some more knowledge on that head of Saint Valentine bit from earlier?”

“You like it when I talk nerdy, huh?” He wiggles two ebony eyebrows, fingers sneaking to tickle his wife on her belly.

Laughing and batting his hands away, Ginny stretches her arms to steal his glasses. Adjusting the round specs over her nose, she requests in all seriousness, “Better start talking, Daddy.”

“Careful, Gin,” Harry’s eyes flash, his voice husky, hungry.

“To quote Beyonce, I’m a grown woman, I can do whatever I want,” she sticks her tongue out, palms moving under her head for comfort and a better view for a certain professor-doctor-archaeologist. “I’m listening,” Ginny giggles a moment later, snapping him out of his reverie.

“I swear they trained you in the area of light torture at that school of yours,” Harry shakes his head, gathering his lanky limbs under him as he shuffles to sit cross-legged on his side of the bed. “Where do I start? There’s the New Minster in Winchester, which was a royal Benedictine abbey founded in 901. Thing is, when they built it next to the original cathedral, also known by the name of Old Minster, the two buildings were so close to one another that the voices of the two choirs merged with chaotic results.”

“You’re a bit sad you weren’t there to witness that, aren’t you?” Ginny jokes, her feet gently landing in Harry’s lap as he traces their outline with his thumb.

“A bit. Now how familiar are you with Queen Emma of Normandy?” He plows on as Ginny waves her hand vaguely, a gesture meaning “not much” in the non-verbal thesaurus they’ve both adopted. “Well, Emma of Normandy was queen consort of England , Denmark and Norway. She was the daughter of Richard I, Duke of Normandy , and his second wife, Gunnora . Actually, through her marriages to Æthelred the Unready and Cnut the Great, she became the Queen Consort of England, Denmark, and Norway. She was the mother of three sons, King Edward the Confessor , Alfred Ætheling , and King Harthacnut , as well as two daughters, Goda of England , and Gunhilda of Denmark . She was one of the most politically active actors of the era, practically ruling England through the voices of her sons because, you know, people were still a tad paranoid and didn’t yet trust women.”

“Their loss.”

“You said it. So we already know Emma was politically involved and whatnot, but as important about her is the fact that she closely followed the tradition of Saint Helena. In short, this means that Emma was noted for her generosity to different churches and religious communities. On the topic, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle mentions that on the death of her son Harthacnut, Emma offered the head of St. Valentine to the New Minster Winchester for the benefit of his soul in 1041. But what it doesn’t mention is how she managed to get hold of a relic that was peacefully buried in Rome, pay to have it and then deliver it as an offering for her son’s death, and it drives me batty,” Harry groans in heavy academically induced frustration.

“Aw, poor baby,” Ginny comforts him, tugging at his hands so he falls over her.

“Not that I care when I’m this close to you, but during the English Civil War, the remains of Cnut’s line were disinterred and scattered about the Cathedral floor by parliamentary forces,” Harry breathes as he nips at her jaw.

“What a mess,” she exhales, rapidly losing track of what they were discussing when his palms roam over a place or two they both know she likes.

Harry hums and lightly bites at her earlobe.  “Mhm, they knew how to make a good mess back in the day.”

Ginny’s fingers tighten at his shoulders and she grumbles. “Stop _teasing_ and let’s start making our own mess.”

“Gladly,” Harry says with a chuckle, drawing the covers over them both.

* * *

After much arranging of schedules, booking of train tickets, packing and repacking, the little family of four trundles off to Winchester. Light rain patters against the windows, only occasional spears of sunlight piercing through the grey cloud cover.

James is dozing against Harry’s shoulder, his chubby cheeks flushed red and his inky shock of hair a peaked riot over his forehead.

Teddy, meanwhile, has his nose pressed to the window pane, grey-blue eyes darting to examine every hill, cottage, and what have you that passes.

With a contented sigh, Ginny lets her head droop against Harry’s shoulder, her fingers stretching to smooth along Teddy’s straining back. “I might have a kip.”

“You should, because once we’re in Winchester I have plans to keep you busy,” Harry agrees.

Chuckling, Ginny nuzzles closer to Harry and murmurs, “You know that’s a lot less sensual than the casual observer would guess.”

“I dunno, carefully preserved decapitated heads of saints are pretty hot.”

“Keeping your proclivities quiet until I’m too invested to jump ship - not cool, Potter.”

“Go to sleep, Weasley-Potter,” Harry shoots back, pressing a kiss to Ginny’s hairline and slumping a bit on the bench, “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Before long, the steady rumble of the train lulls Ginny to sleep, Harry’s well-loved woolen jumper comfortingly familiar against her cheek and James’ little puffs of breath slow and even. After what feels like mere minutes, she’s jostled awake by the slowing pace of the train and Teddy’s insistent tugging at her sleeve. “We’re _here_.”

Ginny pinches the tip of his nose. “Thanks, Teddy Bear.”

He rolls his eyes at the nickname, an echo of his arguments that he’s _much_ too old for such a baby-ish title, but the flush on his cheeks and suppressed smile assure Ginny she can get a bit more use out of it.

James woke at some point during her sleep, though Harry’s expertise in keeping children busy and quiet - forged in the fire of his PhD - prevented the youngest Potter from waking her. He pauses his faux automobile noises and halts the little yellow and red dump truck halfway across Harry’s forehead and makes a noise he seems to use when he’s attempting to get Ginny’s attention. In reality it’s some vague ‘mmmm’ noise that could just as easily mean he simply associates Ginny with food and is trying to convey ‘yummy.’

Either way, Ginny likes to rub it in that she got a name first.

With minimal drama, the foursome disembark, luggage and pram in tow, and Harry heads off with Teddy to claim their reserved car. Ginny tugs the diaper bag further up her shoulder and resettles James on her hip, then makes her way toward the little family bathroom since James’ smell is getting a bit rough for even a mother to bear.

He coos up at her as she lays him down on the table and she tickles his belly. “Your dad is a little arse, leaving all _this_ ,” she gestures down south, “for me.”

And she’ll fight anyone who says James didn’t send her a supremely sympathetic look even as she swiped him clean.

Harry and Teddy swap out with Ginny and James, heading off to the loo before they start on the drive into town.  

They’d booked a little cottage not long after the initial chat, a cozy brick thing on an estate just outside Winchester. Harry’d mapped it all out, and their longest travel time would be about a quarter of an hour, assuming traffic is as unlikely as he suspects.

By the time he and Teddy return, Ginny’s got James all buckled into his seat and has claimed the drivers’ side for herself. Rolling down the window as they approach, Ginny leans across the center console and lets her best smirk tick up the corner of her lips. “Get in, hot stuff.”

Teddy grimaces and tugs his own door open, already distracted by telling James everything fun they’re going to do on their holiday in the country. Harry, meanwhile, has propped his forarms on the open window and ducked his head down, eyes scrunched against the late morning sun. “You better not let my wife hear you propositioning me like that, she’s a bit jealous when it comes down to it.”

“Well then get in before she comes ‘round,” Ginny shoots back, tilting her sunglasses down and lifting her brows in challenge.

Harry barks out a laugh and complies, slipping into the passenger’s seat and twisting to double check the boys before Ginny pulls away from the curb.

Sometime during her nap and between London and Winchester, the stormy winter sky gave way to an almost imitation of a spring morning. The chill still nips at cheeks, noses, and fingers, and Teddy’s able to keep up his favorite winter car ride activity - foggy pictures drawn on cold windows - while Harry fiddles with the radio. The sun’s well and truly glowing overhead, warm rays turning Harry’s blue-black hair golden and his eyes sparkling as he laughs unreservedly at Teddy’s tale of his most recent foray into the fine art of finger painting.  James wriggles happily at the sound, joining in with his own giggles, and Ginny finds as she splashes through puddles and the road turns from bumpy asphalt to rutted dirt, that she’s never been quite this happy.

* * *

The cottage is just as adorable as advertised, rooms beautifully appointed with stylish but homey tufted chairs, fresh bundles of lavender tucked everywhere, marshmallow-like beds with goose down pillows, and a gorgeous garden Ginny could lie in for hours on end and not be bored.

Teddy quickly claims his bed, a fluffy little something in a room of his own but accessible enough that they’ll all feel at ease even in an odd location. The owners set up a cot for James so he can share with Teddy, and the kitchen is an absolute dream.

“This is spoiling me,” Ginny grins wide, taking in the sight of the cosy and warm cottage.

Harry sets down the groceries they’d stopped off for in between Hampshire at the train station and runs his palm along the shined countertops. “Our kitchen is going to seem a bit of a let down after this.”

Teddy’s holding James’ hands and babbling on about all the games they’ll play in the yard when Ginny tucks herself into Harry’s side. “This was a good idea.”

“I’m full of them - comes with being a PhD.”

“You’re full of something alright.”

“Don’t get testy, you’ll be a doctor sooner or later.”

“It feels more like later or never,” Ginny groans, pressing her forehead into his chest dejectedly, “Did your program feel this endless?”

His hands rise to knead at her shoulders, and she nearly moans with the release. â As she huffs out a breath, Harry murmurs, “I think you need a few days without shop talk - we both might.”

“You, in a museum, with no shop talk.”

“No - I mean nothing we actually do at the university or at work or what have you,” Harry amends, hands moving from short squeezes to long strokes up and down Ginny’s back.

“I bet you’ll break first.”

“So competitive.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

And before Harry can volley back, Teddy shouts about rabbits in the yard and they’re spilling into the garden, wellies squeaking against the cobbled path.

* * *

Ginny wakes the following morning to a depressingly empty bed, given it’s Valentine’s Day, but finds herself soon mollified as the scents and sounds of frying bacon, toast, and some other lovelies to fill her hungry belly.

Lazily, she twists onto her side and blinks at the clock. It’s well past her normal waking time and Ginny starts when she realizes James hasn’t woken her. With a steadying breath, Ginny works her way from beneath the twisted sheets and sets her feet on the plush rug, warm heady scents mingling and calling her from the comfort of bed. _Ah, coffee._

Grabbing one of the thick, luxurious dressing gowns hung against the wall, Ginny fluffs the collar around her neck and shuffles into the hall.

There’s clattering, easy chatter (courtesy of Teddy), and easy rhythms filling the air. Harry loves his playlists.

James claps gleefully when Ginny rounds the corner and Harry temporarily pauses his little dance - mostly the dorkiest and most tempting little arse wiggles known to man - and Teddy trots over to show her his latest foray into the art world.

Ginny combs his lank hair back and Harry turns to press a dry kiss over her forehead before resuming his last few tosses and dressings. “Everybody grab a seat, breakfast is up.”

With much excitement and the joviality that only seems to ever arise on holiday, the little family gathers around the wooden island, plates full and hearts even more so.

Dishes are soon washed, the family dispersed to dress and ready for a day of sightseeing, and Ginny finds her husband turned a bit amorous despite his earlier ‘all business’ focus on their vittles. She’s just finished tugging a creamy oversized cashmere sweater overhead (purchased particularly for this trip), when Harry’s chilly hands wrap around her middle from behind. “How’s things, Mrs. Potter?”

Shivering, Ginny twists and flicks her fiery locks free of the rolled collar of her sweater. “Better before your little icy intrusion.”

“I have it on good authority that my hands  - icy or no - are a ‘gift from the gods.’”

“Stuff it, Potter,” Ginny says, hoping for something a bit less breathy than she ends up with as Harry’s fingers tickle at the waistband of her knickers.

Humming against her neck, Harry pulls Ginny closer. “Is that a rebuff or an invitation?”

With a snort, Ginny swipes at Harry’s face, nearly upsetting his spectacles, and earning a scoff in response. “Off with you, we’ve got a carefully preserved decapitated head to see. Now put on some trousers.”

“I never thought I’d hear that sentence.”

Ginny shrugs and flops back onto the unmade bed, tugging her jeans over her hips. “Well it’s cold out - can’t have you freezing off my best friend.”

Harry does the same, minus the bed wriggling, and lets out an affronted gasp. “Three years in and I find out you’re just sticking around for my goods.”

“What good goods they are though,” Ginny answers dreamily, fingertips stroking along his hip, “You’re a right temptress, Dr. Potter.”

“I don’t think - ”

An ominous thud followed by Teddy’s even more unsettling assurance that ‘everything is ok’ breaks the little banter-laden flirtation. Harry sends a longing look Ginny’s way and buttons his jeans. “I’ve got it.”

It only takes another quarter of an hour, two plasters for Teddy’s elbow and shin, and a final nappy check for James before they’re bundled into the little rental car, crunching over gravel and onto the asphalt covered in melty snow.

Teddy seems recovered from his little episode with the iced over back steps, pointing out landmarks and other points of interest (mainly a stray sheep or two) while James listens intently and sucks on his faux key ring.

Harry’s claimed the role of driver this time, seeing as he plotted the way to Winchester Cathedral from their rental the moment it became one of their top five contenders. As they trundle down the narrow roads, Ginny wedges herself against the door, bright sun warming her face so she’s halfway to purring like a satisfied kitten.  

Like an old lady, or perhaps a baby, depending on your preference, Ginny finds herself lulled to sleep by the gentle hum of the car engine, Teddy’s easy chatter, and Harry’s answering ‘mhmm.’

Soon enough, Harry cranks the motor off and prods her gently awake. “We’re here.”

“Mm, I’m ready for some good old fashioned brain-growing, museum-touring fun.”

Teddy wriggles excitedly in his booster seat while James seems to have used up his good behavior on the ride over and begins his best impression of an air raid siren.  

Unclipping his belt with practiced ease, Ginny lifts James from his car seat and sniffs at his bum. “Fresh as a daisy,” she asserts, lowering him to her eye level and smirking, “Seems like _someone_ is just being a little dramatic.”

“Gets that from his mum,” Harry teases, gripping Teddy’s shoulder as a bicyclist shoots past.  

Ginny rubs her nose against James’ and murmurs, “Guess Daddy forgot about the Ancient Aliens incident.”

“It’s a slight against the progress made by our ancestors to attribute their greatest achievements to extraterrestrials that probably don’t exist.”

Teddy blinks up at Harry, “But what if they do?”

“What if they what?”

“The aliens - if they’re real then saying they _didn’t_ do it would be bad too.”

“Touche, Ted,” Harry allows as Ginny slips James into his pram and they take their little parade over the crosswalk.

Oaks and Medlars stand like bare sentinels lining every street, sidewalk, and byway, hovering over wooden benches bearing the last remnants of the previous night’s flurries.

They pass the University on the way and Ginny can’t miss the way Harry’s gaze flits longingly toward what’s got to be the library, given the students streaming out in little clumps with armfuls of books. She elbows his arm and earns a chuckle while Teddy crunches every leaf or branch he can find. James, meanwhile, is becoming increasingly dissatisfied with being strapped into a pram and favors leaning out as far as possible to see anything and everything while he kicks his little boots helplessly.

It’s not a far walk to the cathedral, and soon broad red signs boasting adverts for each of the special exhibits on display, Kings and Scribes, seasonal events for obvious reasons, and a few local events scheduled for the next few days.

The towering spires of Winchester Cathedral are no less impressive and stalwart than you’d guess, shooting up into the sky like spears, the front face is broad and boasts intricate glasswork inlaid amid stacked bricks. Statues paying tribute to saints and heroes rise up from the brown earth.  

Inside, chairs are set in meticulous rows behind lovingly waxed pews that have held worshippers for centuries. Shined floors reflect everything that passes over them like mirrors, a fact taken advantage of by artists who’ve set bronze sculptures in the light cast by the intricate windows.

In something like a fairytale, James and Teddy seem stunned into good and _quiet_ behavior as they pick their way through the cathedral. After making a circuit of the main sanctuary, arched ceilings lead them toward a broad room filled with glass cases and carefully catalogued artifacts.

Unsurprisingly, the skull is given pride of place, on display in a gilded tank-like case. Mere seconds before contact, Harry grabs Teddy’s perpetually grubby fingers and reads from the plaque. “Valentine’s Day originated as a Western Feast Day celebrating an early Catholic Saint, Valentinus…”

Ginny peers over his shoulder, “He could use a dentist, eh?”

Teddy snorts and Harry rolls his eyes, though a grin tickles his lips.  

Throughout the day, as Teddy and James manage to remain relatively entertained by every nerdy fact and object Harry throws at them, Ginny finds herself wondering if it’s nature or nurture that has managed to ensure both boys are pretty solidly in the nerd zone.  

Not that she’s completely without blame, or whatever you call it.  

They make it through everything the New Minster has to offer, plus about a third of the University before breaking for lunch when James’ whimpers start, which are inevitably followed by louder wails until he’s fed. Plus Harry’s got that pre-hangry look in his eyes that Ginny’s learned not to test. After some poking around on the internet, they settle on _Piecaramba_ which has pretty consistent reviews and some delicious looking menu items. Harry’s feeling adventurous and orders up a vegan something or other while Teddy and Ginny order a Bounty Hunter (buttery crust filled with chicken, bacon and melted cheese in a barbeque sauce) and fish & chips to share. James is contented with his pureed veggies so long as Ginny offers him a bit of crust so he can have pie too.

The rest of the day passes smoothly, until they wander back home for a family dinner and cozy evening spent in front of a roaring fire while snow falls gently outside.

It’s still early when the boys drift off, overtired from the trip and a long day to boot, and soon Harry and Ginny are tucked up on the couch. Cozy, warm, familiar, and more than a little amorous on Valentine’s day.

Wine poured and wireless cranked low, Harry prods the fire back to life and tucks himself against Ginny’s side with a sigh. “Who knew two children below the age of ten could be so tiring.”

Ginny chuckles around the rim of her glass and lets her head fall against Harry’s. “Probably most people.”

“I must’ve missed that lesson.”

“And you call yourself a PhD,” Ginny says, teasing as she lifts her hand to comb through Harry’s wild locks.

He nuzzles closer, breath coming out in warm puffs against her collar bone, sending her heart thudding. For a moment, Ginny considers the possibility that it’s unintentional, the way he’s making her wild. Until his chilly fingers breach the waistband of her trousers, prodding, seeking, but never quite delivering much of anything.

“You’re a menace, Potter.”

Harry sits up, twisting to get closer as his right hand rises to mirror his left. “So’re you, Gin. _God_ when you’re not even trying,” the end of his thought is lost to Ginny’s lips as she tips them until her back hits the cushions.

Jumpers are quickly abandoned - Ginny pauses to smack Harry and tell him cashmere _never_ gets tossed on the floor - and trousers loosened until they both come to their senses, a log cracking in the fire drawing them from the haze. “We have two kids, and one can walk,” Harry murmurs against Ginny’s sternum, his chest heaving as she takes a steadying breath.

Ginny hums.

“Maybe take this behind a locked door?”

They both straighten, Ginny running careless fingers through her knotted waves while Harry searches for his spectacles.

“I’m just going to take them off again,” Ginny laughs, grabbing her sweater and sauntering toward the bedroom.

Raising his fist triumphantly, Harry slips his glasses back over his ears and basically stalks across the room until Ginny’s shoulders brush the soft yellow wall. “I want to be able to see. Everything.”

“You - hm.”

“Speechless, _Potter_?”

“Not yet, but we’ve got time,” Ginny winks, but before she can depart with a cheeky strut, Harry’s arm bands around her middle and somehow she’s tossed over his shoulder.  

“Such a he-man.”

“I’m reinforcing the idea that I’m a virile mate good for procreation.”

Ginny snorts as Harry drops her on the mattress, nearly sending her bouncing to the carpet. She props herself up on her elbows and shimmies her shoulders a bit. “Mm, bring it on, nerdy man.”

Harry shucks his jeans and kicks them away, then easily slips his socks off. “Have I ever told you about the intricate burial practices of the Maya?”

Ginny wriggles free of her trousers and throws her head back with a dramatic moan, “Oh,   _Harry_!”

He’s cradled between her thighs now and nipping at her jaw. “There were _thousands_ of different positions bodies could be placed in to symbolize status and the journey the deceased would take in the afterlife.”

As her hands wander low, Ginny laughs and nudges Harry’s lips towards hers. “I feel like this little academic exercise is about two sentences from creepy.”

He nods. “Me too. No more talking?”

She flips their positions and grips Harry’s wrists. “No more talking.”

* * *

The Potters plus Lupin sleep late the following morning in that magical, restful way that only seems possible on holiday. Teddy knocks on the door to Harry and Ginny’s room around half past nine, letting Ginny know James is doing his little ‘I’m hungry’ whimper and that if it _matters_ , he’s a bit hungry too.

Chuckling, Harry tells Teddy to go start setting the table. Once the door falls shut, Harry flops back against the still warm bed sheets and groans. “Ah, Gin. I can’t tell if I’m too old for this or too young.”

“You’re just right, Goldilocks,” Ginny says, wandering across the room to find her pajamas in the tall chest of drawers tucked in the far corner.  

As she slips her flannels over her hips, Harry somehow droops further. “That is the saddest sight in the entire world.”

With a snort, Ginny tosses a fresh pair of pants Harry’s way and nudges the drawers closed with her hip. Harry rolls from the bed and drags his boxers over his bum. “No, Harry. That is the saddest sight in the world.”

They share a rueful grin and Ginny presses a kiss to his forehead before disappearing into the hall, James’ whines gaining in volume. After a second, Ginny peers back around the doorframe, floorboards creaking underneath her feet. “ _Your_ son.”

Before long, breakfast is on the table, the family’s gathered around, and sunlight’s spearing through the brilliant white curtains. There’s swiping of sausage links, butter spread over crisp toast, and cubed fruit popped like bits of candy. Harry’s nothing if not an overzealous breakfast chef. But it’s just one of the many ways Ginny learned Harry’s love is less often told, and most likely to be seen and experienced. He’ll blush trying to whisper sweet nothings and then proofread, edit, and notate an academic article you’ve half finished writing while you sleep. _And_ make dinner.

Tidying the kitchen is a quick affair and Teddy’s doing his best to carry James into the living room to play with the toys he’d managed to fit in his luggage (a few more than the ‘your three favorites’ instruction Harry’d given).  

Harry and Ginny take turns in the shower - the lure of saving water overcome by the litany of terrible outcomes possible if the boys were left on their own - and by eleven, they’re all bundled and headed out into the yard.

The previous day’s flurries and the heavier snowfall overnight have cloaked everything in a soft layer of white. James is strapped to Harry’s chest and Teddy immediately claims the southern corner of the yard, shouting that he’s established Fort Lupin.

As he begins raising a thick, bumpy wall, Ginny works the snow into a stronghold of her own. When Harry attempts to take refuge, she tosses a few shoddily made snowballs to keep him out, careful to avoid James’ little capped head.

Teddy gives him similar treatment and Harry moans dramatically that he’s a man without a country. Which earns some jeers and a stuck out tongue from Teddy.  

Once their hovels are built, there’s a pause while each army fills up their armory and then uneasy silence before the first projectile is thrown.

Harry, Ginny, and Teddy share tense glances, the air silent save for a few birds arcing overhead. Until James becomes bored with nothing to do and no one to play with. His shout-giggle serves as the gauntlet thrown and then the yard is filled with flying snowballs.

It’s a morning to remember, soggy, sunny, and filled with laughter. Cheeks are red with exertion and chill, Harry’s hat is lost in the fray, and Ginny tosses her mittens aside in favor of accuracy (ignoring Harry’s assertions that she’ll lose a finger to frostbite).

And when the little family collapses in a heap on the living room floor, bellies aching with laughter, Ginny thinks she’s never had a better Valentine’s Day.

* * *

Ginny’s got her first Saturday off work since March began so it’s only natural that she spends the small amount of time her boys are napping treating herself to a bubble bath, candles and music included.

“Smells nice,” says Harry, shuffling his slippered feet inside the en-suite bathroom, bleary eyed and hair sticking all over.

“Cherry Vanilla,” Ginny smiles, clearing the brim of the tub and adding a clean towel on top of it for Harry to sit comfortably. It’s almost become a tradition of theirs, her long baths accompanied by their long talks, with Harry rubbing her shoulders or gently washing her hair after an exhausting week of mind numbing but overall rewarding work.

He takes another appreciative sniff and claims the improvised seat, bending to reach the soap and spinning it between his palms until a satisfying coat of lather’s been created. He washes her back in silence, Ginny’s small moans of pleasure punctuating his strokes over her shoulders from time to time.

When he’s done, his hands travel up to her temples and tenderly massage them in large to smaller circles as she hums, relaxed.

“So what’s for dinner?” Ginny asks, leaning to rest her back as her feet stretch until they reach the wall of the tub.

“What would the beautiful lady prefer?” Harry smirks, tucking a stray lock of red hair behind her ear.

“Not cheesy pizza,” she grimaces.

“Well that’s new,” Harry raises an eyebrow, unaccustomed to his wife not wholeheartedly embracing the opportunity to gorge herself with some cheesy something or other.

“Dunno, I’m just not feeling it.”

“Okay, how about pasta?”

“Bah,” her nose crinkles as she dips herself under the water until it nearly reaches the tip of her nose.

“I’m getting the distinct feeling James inherited his distaste of whatever I propose as a meal from you,” Harry chuckles. “Paella?”

“God no!”

“So you’re not feeling very mediterranean tonight. Are you feeling anything though?  Because I’m honestly out of ideas.” Harry’s shoulders slump as he watches Ginny pout, blowing bubbles through her pursed lips, unable to comprehend what’s bothering her. If he recalls, she’s never refused any of the aforementioned dishes and, luckily for his academic career, his memory is still in tip-top shape.

“Not particularly, but - oh,” Ginny’s eyes widen. A pause, then she rapidly rises from the sudsy water, splashes all over and jumps on the bathmat with accuracy, leaving Harry behind blinking and feeling very confused.

“Gin?” He calls, scratches the back of his head. Yet no one answers. “Ginny?” Harry tries again, raising to his feet to go after her.

“Harry?” Her voice quivers as she speaks his name, naked in the middle of their bedroom.

“Alright, love?” Harry quickly closes the distance between them, cups her brow and searches deep inside her chocolate brown eyes, worried and ready to shield her from any pain or sorrow.

“How would you feel about me wearing your sweaters this winter?”

“Brilliant, I guess. But I thought you really loved yours - oh,” He freezes as he finally understands, “We’re doing it again, aren’t we?”

A mischievous glint forms at the corner of her eyes and Ginny grins, “You mean the whole baby madness because yes!  If my calculations are correct, that is - I think this is a surprise souvenir from Winchester.”

Harry smiles softly and holds her for a moment, arms draped around her shoulders as happiness unfolds inside his chest. And it grows and it grows until he can’t keep it still any longer so he lets himself laugh and cry at the same time, love and a feeling of completeness unraveling themselves in that moment, encompassing between kisses and clumsy hands hurrying to rid him of his clothes. Without a second thought, she wraps her bare thighs around his middle and he carries them both to bed, to celebrate the magic of having once again created life.

Later, cozy and sated among the messy bedsheets, Harry cuddles Ginny closer against his chest and laughs like a puff of air from his lungs. “Can you believe it?”

Ginny hums. “We really _are_ good at that.”

“No - I mean yes we are but. Another baby - and conceived on bloody Valentine’s Day.”

“Bloody is right - he was beheaded you know.”

Harry snorts. “What an amazing piece of trivia. Anyone who shares knowledge like that is a gentleman and a scholar.”

“And a virile little baby maker,” Ginny adds.

“Two to tango.”

“What a tango it was.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> we're always over the moon to hear what you think so please don't hesitate to share with us :)
> 
> lots of love and may your valentine's be as you wish it to be,  
> gryffindormischief &  
> fightfortherightsofhouseelves


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